


Smoking Cars

by Cahoots, oobiemcruby



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drug Dealing, Drugs, M/M, Sex, hello, highschool, wHAT TAG
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-22 10:05:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/911944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cahoots/pseuds/Cahoots, https://archiveofourown.org/users/oobiemcruby/pseuds/oobiemcruby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>dave gets in trouble<br/>dad cleans up</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smoking Cars

**Author's Note:**

> dont smoke cars kids

He walks in and the surprise on his face is plain for anyone to see. You just hope he doesn't give it away, you beg ridiculously hard with your thoughts _please just go along with it, please don't screw this up._

“Ah, Mr Egbert. This is your son?”

He shakes the out-stretched, perfectly-manicured hand and sits down beside where you're huddled in your seat, hands shoved deep in your pockets, shades confiscated to the table before you.

He places his hat and pipe on the table, nodding once and smiling grimly. You let loose the breath you were holding in a rush of relief. You wince as it was almost too loud.

"Good. We caught your son at the back of the school property near the train station with a group of similarly aged children this evening."

The stupid policewoman shuffles closer in her seat and folds her arms over the desk.

"We believe a process similar to drug trafficking occurred."

He looks at you sideways but you keep your face an impassive stone, staring down at your hoodie zipper.

"I'm very sorry you had to find him that way," he says and you cringe at how normally he says it.

The lady nods.

"As are we. Normally this is a school issue, but events such as this have transpired far too frequently in recent days and we had to step in. Lucky for him, we're letting him off with a warning for now, seeing as he is underage."

He nods his understanding and they do some chatting and paperwork filling-out which you don't really pay attention to. You're too busy surreptitiously glancing up at the back of Egbert's neck under the accusingly bright office lights, the hair barely grazing his skin there, and the crinkle of his shirt between his shoulder blades.  
He turns to you and oh shit he definitely saw you looking. He picks up his pipe and places his fedora on his head and slides some paperwork into your hands. With a nod to the lady, he takes you by the elbow, you just remembering to snatch your shades at the last moment and steers you out of the police station, and you don't glance back at the lady once.

...

 

He drops your arm once you've made it to the carpark and just heads directly to the car. You hesitate before following, you hope he's not mad, he's probably mad. Ever the fucking gentleman he opens the passenger door for you and you slide in. You watch him shut the door, shielding you from the glistening wet dark everything outside and the freezing breeze. The streetlights cast shadows across the carpark and you can see your reflection in the windshield. You grimace at yourself and look away.

He slides into the driver's seat and starts up the car. Your hands are all clammy, folded in your lap.

"Seatbelt," he mutters and you oblige straight away, clicking it in in a flash. He backs out and drives out of the carpark without a word.

The silence would be crushing if not for the whoosh of passing cars and the occasional quiet splashes as you hit pools of water. It's almost soothing, the lights that get steadily brighter as they come towards you and then suddenly disappear, and the red ones in front of you lulling up and down as they head over the bumps. The car in front turns left, and suddenly it's just you and your best friend's dad facing the wide expanse of black, and only the headlights highlighting a small amount of faded road to lead you.

The car's warmed up by now, no longer matching the biting cold of the outside except for the tiny breeze that sneaks around your ankles. You feel safe in here. You lean against the window and stare out into the dark, out at the faint stars overhead.

You hear him take a breath, a breath you recognise as a precursor to something incredibly serious. Your fingers clench around the frame of your shades in your lap.

"It's very late," he says. You shift upright in your seat and nod.

"I know."

He looks at you sideways and you avoid his eyes, staring at his pipe on the dashboard instead.

"John's asleep if you want to see him."

You both know you don't really want to see him. He sighs.

"I'll fix up my bed for you. We'll take you to see your brother in the morning."

You nod. You don't want to see your brother at all. That's why you didn't call him, you didn't want to see the disappointment in his eyes. At least when he takes his shades off.

You're kind of thinking the disappointment in Egbert's eyes is worse, though.

"I didn't do it,” you mutter. His eyes flicker to you from the road and back again.

"I didn't...there wasn't any," you hate how you get stuttery around him, nervous because you feel like you have to _prove_ something to him and he's so fucking calm. "I didn't know."

He nods and takes another breath.

"Your brother will wonder where you’ve been all night."

You sigh and bury your face in your hands.

"I'll have to call him," he says.

You don't say anything. He turns left onto his street.

"What would you like me to tell him?" he asks, and it's a very real, honest question, and your face flushes in guilt that he is doing all this for you. You decide that you've used up his goodwill enough. Plus, you can't think of anything that seems plausible enough for your bro to actually believe.

You shrug. "Anything."

"Anything at all?" He gives a sly smile and you know what that's just fucking adorable in your time of vexation.

"Just..." you don't know.

He takes the hint.

"Be as brief as possible, yes?"

He's still smiling and you still feel guilty but when he smiles it's impossible for you to feel shit.

He turns into the driveway, motor rumbling softly, and brings the car to a stop. Switching off the engine, he gets out of the car, and you take a deep breath before opening your car door and doing the same. You lock the door for him.

 

 

Inside it's very, very quiet. He murmurs to you something about food but you refuse with a shake of your head even though you wouldn't mind one of his cakes right now. He takes you up the stairs, each step muffled by carpet and directs you to the bathroom whilst he fixes up your room, _his_ room.  
You really want to touch him right now. Like really, really fucking badly. You haven't seen him in a month since he first touched you and you _need_ it again, you _need_ him.

You stare at yourself in the mirror in the half-dark, only the streetlights filtering a blue-tinted light through the high-above window. It shines across the tiles at an angle, half of your feet in faint luminosity, the other half in shadow. You grip the sides of the sink.

 

...

 

It takes you less than ten minutes to get ready for bed. You borrow John's toothbrush, sure that he won't mind, not really caring if he does. Attempting to fix your hair is a struggle, you need a straightener or something, the rain just ruined your hair into frizz.

You walk into his room to find him dressed only in his suit pants and shirt, rearranging the bed sheets, fluffing up a pillow. Always the perfectionist.

You kick off your sneakers quietly and shrug off your hoodie and place them neatly in the corner (a feat for you), your shades on the pile. You've foregone wearing them since he drove you home.

He smiles up at you but before he can excuse himself out the door with a goodnight you grab a hold of his arm. He tenses and you can feel the upper arm muscle there, his smooth skin under crisp shirt. He parts his lips to say something but you tug on his arm, pulling him down to your height (a difference of two?? inches now) and claim his lips.

He makes a small noise of surprise but you persist, pressing your chest against his and wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

You're too chicken to do anything more than just press your lips against his and work his with your own, but he helps you out and swipes his tongue along your bottom lip.

You inhale his cologne, let him fill you up, press up into him. You grip his shoulders, desperate to be closer but he pulls his lips away and you frown.

“Goodnight, Dave,” he murmurs, and you can hear the husk, can hear the want.

He tries to leave again but you keep a grip on his shoulders. You're strong too.

“Where're you going?”

He drops his forehead to yours with a sigh. He knows what's coming.

“I'm going to go sleep.”

“Where?” You grip tighter and suddenly you feel very brave, you know exactly what you want.

“The couch.”

He smiles. He knows exactly what you'll say.

“Like hell you're sleeping on the couch,” you mutter and he _laughs_ , he fucking _laughs_ , and you push him backward hard and shove him down onto the bed.  
He's grinning at you from where he's sitting but you steal that grin away, kissing him fervently, gripping at his shirt. You miss him. You want him.

His hand goes up to caress your cheek as he takes back control of the kiss, kissing you slowly, running his tongue over your lips, over your teeth. You hum as he swipes his tongue against yours, and you lift it up to meet his but ugh this is too slow.

His hand slides from your cheek to card through your hair and wow that feels nice, but he's taking too much care with you, you just want him to fuck you right now.  
He twists your hair around his fingers and tugs and oh ok you remember this bit, this is the bit where you could just get off on that alone. You groan into his mouth and he chuckles. He knows.

He pulls his tongue back and nips at your lips, the side of your mouth, along your cheek. He tips your head sideways by tugging on your hair and nibbles along your jaw and oh damn did you just let out a whine.

Your hands in his shirt rutch it up, wanting to get it _off_ him, untucking it from beneath his pants. You want to see more of him, but he pulls you onto his lap with his free hand, palm against your lower back and your arms halt.

He pulls back to scrutinize you over and your ears heat up red, and you lick your lips in nervousness, eyes on his mouth.

“If that isn't the sexiest look I've ever seen,” he mutters and your eyes snap up to his to gauge his expression, burn the image of his approval into your mind. You take in a shaky breath at the soft smile in his eyes and you return it with a small smile of your own.

“Striders give the best looks,” you say a little breathily and have to clear your throat.

“They certainly do,” he chuckles and strokes your cheek with his thumb, holding your chin with the tip of his fingers. You'd squirm but the lull in action has you regaining control of yourself again, you get a breather.

“Especially this one.”

His hand shifts to hold your chin up with his forefinger, and the pad of his thumb traces lower, down the side of your face and over your bottom lip. His other hand dips lower, down your back, and slips under your pants to grab at your bare ass and you swallow, hands clutched tight in the folds of his shirt.

His expression has changed, his eyebrows have furrowed and his lips are set in a thin, concentrating line. He's staring at your lips.

“Open.”

You shudder at the command and take in his thumb eagerly, letting it slide between your lips, past your teeth, and you flick your tongue against the tip of it, sealing your lips around it, watching his eyes darken as the grip on your asscheek gets tighter. You hum and suck on the digit, lathering it with your tongue and you swear his eyes almost flutter shut, breath heavy across the lips he's so concentrated on.

“Mmm,” he hums, and suddenly he whips you over, lifting you up and pushing you against the mattress, hands away from your mouth and ass to rest on the bed. You whine at the lack of contact but he swallows it with a kiss, crawling on top of you.

You crawl backwards up the bed and he follows, always lip-locked, constant kisses. You love him like this. You love his attention.

He hitches up your shirt and breaks the kiss to pull it up over your head and off you and your hair must be all messed right now but he runs his fingers through it and that feels so good until he yanks it to expose your neck and that feels _amazing_ as he sucks on your neck.

He doesn't stay there long though, you can tell he doesn't want to leave marks but honestly you don't care. He moves his lips down your neck with your head held in place and it’s featherlight and you gulp and wow you were already hard five minutes ago.

“Nnng, please,” you whine, grabbing at his shoulders.

He hums in response and you can feel the vibrations against your throat, his hands wandering down your waist.

He swipes his tongue across your collar bone, the slowly cooling saliva sending more blood rushing to your dick. You shiver, scrabbling for purchase, gripping his shoulders with white knuckled hands, which then conveniently find themselves all the way down to the belt loops on his dress pants.

He chuckles once more and you force a pout, ready to play the role of petulant teenager when his hand is suddenly at your throbbing dick, providing delicious friction for you to rub into.

Realising this has become extremely one-sided, you press a hand to the straining bulge in Egbert's pants hoping to drive him round the bend as much as he is doing to you. He grunts, and ever the gentleman, he takes your hand in his own, moving it to his back, preferring to have all his attention on you. You play with the strip of skin his rucked up shirt has left you with as his mouth moves up once again to yours.

Sighing, you let him in, his tongue teasing as he grinds down, frotting against you.

You can tell you're not going to last long if he keeps this up, and you bite down on what you mean to be your lip but oh there's his tongue and did he just whine into your mouth? You pull back, heavy lidded eyes taking in the sight before you. An undone Egbert is a sight to behold, especially given that he's still fully dressed.  
You go in to claim his mouth and you end up smooching more of his nose rather than anything else, and the look he gives you, so full of love and lust you're the one coming undone making silent screams with your release.

You slump, useless to him now, as he almost furiously reaches down into his pants, stumbling over the pesky button, stroking himself to his end. His come becomes stuck between the two of you as he falls onto you, and you shift awkwardly in the mess you made in your boxers.

He sighs into your hair and your eyelids become hard to keep open so you close them, you’re too tired.

…

 

You wake up at what seems to be four am, if what the digital clock blaring in your face is any indication, to the sound of Egbert hastily cleaning up after the mess you’ve made, half-there expletives making their way through his tight-lipped glare at the offending spot. In the dimly lit room you see him sheepishly glance up at you, his half-worn smile illuminated just slightly by the street lights outside making your stomach flutter with butterflies.

“You should really get some sleep, Dave.”

You roll over, curling in on yourself. It doesn’t even take many words from him for you to do what he asks.

...

You wake up again, at a more decent hour, decent being relative and also seven am which is barely decent at all in your books, to a clean bedspread and a distinct lack of the actual owner of the bed. With a sigh you sit up and glance carelessly around the room. It’s just as spotless as ever, you may as well have never have been here, if not for your neatly folded clothes at the edge of the bed.

It’s hard waking up in his bedroom with him not there.

**Author's Note:**

> do you know what i had lotsa fun on this despite the fact no smoking of cars took place


End file.
